and yet, her her her
by i love alex
Summary: "Last chance." He says loudly over the sound of the engine, revving it for good measure but Elena tugs him close; just go, it tells him.


A/N: Loosely based on their scenes together in 6x04. It's quite haphazard and meaningless , and the ending is quite weird (and the reason behind why this took so long to finish and upload) but my inspiration sparked so here we are.

Enjoy.

* * *

><p>He pulls up to the side of the road where she's sitting on the curb, her head leaning on one knee, looking a mixture of bored, mildly unimpressed and tired.<p>

Not a great start.

Dismounting off his bike, he throws over her helmet, the helmet he specifically bought for her, the helmet that nobody else can use because they got it fitted specifically for her head and for her head only thinking it wouldn't need to be on anyone else's. It's funny, now, looking back, that even then that had made plans that extended into the future as though the future was something they'd both mutually predicated upon being: the future of her and him.

"_You ever think about us, what our future will be like?"_

The irony; it's all he ever thought about.

She catches the helmet, just, and stands on a low groan. He gives her a look, nodding at her with his chin with a "what's up" question that doesn't need to be voiced because he's done that gesture, specifically to her, a million times.

She fits the helmet on without responding but he doesn't move because something is going on with her and he knows it and they're not leaving town on a whim together if she's got second thoughts or doubts.

Elena sighs, leaving the straps to instead finally look at him, "I didn't pack a bag."

Neither did he.

"You'd be surprised how far and how long you can go without needing anything that a bag can hold."

Her eyebrows raise, that long, she asks him silently and he nods, however long you need.

"We don't have to do this, though, not if you don't want to."

But she's mounting the bike and he slings his leg over just in front of her without skipping a beat. Already he knows her warm thighs are what he'll be thinking about for the next 100 and something miles until she decides she wants to stop. That was the deal. He drives, she navigates. It didn't take much negotiating because they had done this before. When they were together and crazy, ridiculously in love and getting behind him on a motorcycle and driving off into the country side telling him to turn right here but left there was her favorite thing in the world.

"Last chance." He says loudly over the sound of the engine, revving it for good measure but Elena tugs him close; just go, it tells him.

And as he pulls away, he's thinking with a smile, of that pathetic way in which he had tried to convince Caroline that he hadn't cared.

That he hadn't cared at all.

* * *

><p>"This beer tastes like piss."<p>

He lazily swivels around in the stool he was slumped on, looking across their table at her. Her cheeks are pink and her hair is tugged up tight in a ponytail at the top of her head because somewhere between the rum and gin and the straight up vodka shots, it had gotten to be a nuisance.

He thinks she looks very pretty and is about to say as much but frowns very seriously instead when something occurs to him.

"You hate beer."

Like this is an irrefutable fact he knows and has known for a very long time. Which, actually, it very much is. Her first taste of beer, shockingly, schooled to an almost excelled degree in the ways of underage drinking, had been with him.

Elena scrunches up her face, "No no no. No I don't." And she takes a very long drag before dropping the bottle very dramatically onto the table, wiping her mouth with distain.

"Absolute piss."

"Hey." He chides.

"I'm sorry." She mocks and tries to curtsey, as though the apology should be followed by one but gets up to do it and somehow ends on the other side of the table and onto his lap.

Her thighs stick to his jeans because it's hot and the bar was packed; they had picked it because of this very reason. She flops her head down against his shoulder, turning her head to the side of his neck like she didn't care about being stuck to him in a bar off the 110, 550 or so miles away from Mystic Falls and a life that belonged to her and to them.

_Used_ to. Used to belong to them.

The band over on the other side of the bar, has been only playing covers since they've arrived and a Nina Simone number starts up loudly; they're pretty good but the song only makes her think of that day when he'd played it for her from his record player and they ended up having very lazy and ridiculously erotic sex on his bedroom floor with Nina wailing in the background about lovers who had their own type of music.

The memory along with his hand now tracing like he's not even aware it's doing it, a trickle of a line along the bare skin where her shorts met the tank top she was wearing, is making her stomach flutter in a way she doesn't remember it doing in a very long while.

"Mmm, answer me this." Elena mumbles and she reaches, best she can while keeping her position on his lap, for her half drunken bottle of beer. He would take it from her, sick of hearing about how deplorable it tasted every single time she took a sip, only to take another, but she was comfortably warm, as hot as the bar was, and heavy against him and he didn't want to move, even an inch.

She takes a sip, swallowing to only scrunch up her face yet again. It's practically turned into a skit, "Mmm…so where exactly were you, for all those months, hiding from me?"

He laughs for some reason, looking for his own drink before she's handing him the rest of hers. In all honesty, he wasn't much of a beer drinker either but he could swallow it down easily enough and they'd run out of their harder liquor. He tips his head back and finishes it before waving his hand in the air for the waitress he had compelled earlier.

It was only 5, maybe 6 in the evening and they were both already, very, absurdly, drunk. Apart of him feels vaguely embarrassed about this.

But, only a small part; he's a buzz from the liquor, more though, from her.

"I was….not hiding from _you_. I was hiding from sadness." He answers, too honestly, his voice sounding as if he were describing the brush strokes of a painting. Like he were painting her the very picture. Whenever he drank large portions of alcohol, after it had successfully buried the urge to engorge himself on fresh blood, it made him quite introspective and airy.

"Mmm." She starts and breathes against his neck. The feeling in her stomach has taken a direct turn, right between her thighs, right against him. Her lips graze his skin; she wanted to taste him, so very badly, maybe to get the bitterness of the beer out of her throat, or maybe because she had missed the way he smelled and loved that he was near and close and here with her.

It felt crazy; how much like teenagers they probably looked to a passerby. How much like teenagers they were acting; as if going back in time, going back to their very spot.

She felt, in that instant, very very selfish. Not caring that they had left Caroline, that Stefan was doing this with her only because he needed to mask the pain of losing a brother Elena didn't want to begin to understand the loss of, because if anything, it felt more like a gift.

"I want you never to leave me again."

The waitress comes over to their table at that moment and collects the empty bottles and glasses, replacing them with more liquor and more bottles. Elena hands him another shot of whiskey, unprompted.

It burns his throat but is welcomed by his stomach and he smiles, shamelessly sweet. He was supposed to be teaching her about starting over, that's what this entire journey and experience was supposed to be about. Instead it had consisted of drinking copious amounts of liquor and shortening and shortening the proximity between one another. And a lot of flirting. Too much: he'd probably even start making out with her if she weren't sitting on his lap and the mere of idea of it didn't scare the shit out of him.

"How about we turn it into an official promise?" He says, to distract himself from thinking instead, of how her lips would taste and that just 3 days ago, he had been kissing somebody else's. A girl that was nothing like her and looked nothing like her in his new life that was stripped bear of anything that could ever resemble her.

And yet, her her her, he tickles her stomach just to hear her giggle, _her_. It was insane, the idea, to rid himself – how could he.

"Yes!" She agrees and punches the air to prove her audacity and enthusiasm; a promise sounded fun right now. He gently, in one degree or another, it's hard to detach her, takes her off his lap and comes around to kneel on the floor. She drops to his place on the stool, pulling out her hair because she wanted to feel pretty because this felt like a very pretty moment even though she had no idea what this moment was about. When was her last drink? She reaches for the bottle of vodka, taking a long sip before giving him her full attention.

Stefan reaches for her hand and gently tugs off her ring, "Elena….Elena Gil…I am terribly sorry but you need a new last name. We're starting over. We need new last names, baby." He drawls out, in a terrible attempt at a southern accent.

Elena giggles again, loving the illicitness of this idea, like he were offering her endless amounts of terribly fun but dangerous things. She tucks her hair behind her ears after she's settled and looks at him very seriously.

"Why don't you decide for us?"

He pauses for second and then extends his arm, holding her ring, thinking of promises and of those lips and thighs and of where they were going to sleep tonight. Next to one another, on top of one another, maybe grab a hotel room. It's been so long since he's been alone with her, he's so drunk on the idea. He's so drunk on needing to remember even though he could've closed his eyes 3 days ago and pictured her, looking up at him with a smile that took something from him, his breath maybe.

"Elena Williams…" The name comes easily; and later, he'll realize after thinking back and wondering why, that it had been his mother's maiden name. It had been so long since he had thought of his mother and he thought it strange that it was then, she had come to him – but also, perhaps, rather fitting, "Will you-"

"Wait!" She exclaims and he looks incredibly disappointed. She's about to say something just as the band gets into a bombastic cover of Mustang Sally and the noise in the bar intensifies almost immediately. He clumsily stands and takes her hand, bending down to press his lips against her ear, "You wanna get outta here?"

She grabs what bottles she can, the whiskey and vodka and he leads them through the crowd, slinging an arm around her neck and kicks the door open, walking out into the heat of the night.

* * *

><p>"Never have I ever….left town for four months without bothering to call anyone to let them know I was safe and okay and not lying face down in a gutter somewhere."<p>

After leaving the bar, she'd led them in the direction of the narrow opening to a thinly treed forest and they found a spot a hundred feet in, barren and quiet, mostly, a deer or two lurking for what could their late dinner or early breakfast. It wasn't exactly a motel, but not the worst place to be either; the lack of trees made the stars practically illuminate upon them and the silence in comparison to the bar was nice.

He shakes his head with a smile, "Wow, you're not gonna let that one go are you?"

He really wishes she would; it's a precarious subject.

Elena looks over at him across the makeshift fire he'd thrown together, tips her head to the side and gives him a pointed look before she spits out, "Hell no so take your long ass drink, buddy."

Stefan raises the bottle in the air before tipping his head back, pouring the whiskey right in just to appease her even though he absolutely hated this game and thought that no good ever came out of it.

She was also sitting way too far away from him. Even if it was probably safer for there to be a substantial distance between them. He had wanted to take her somewhere, and fuck her about 10 minutes ago, without hesitation. But now that they're out in the open and the air is clearer, he's thinking of those 4 months she's been rewired to remember and they sit heavy and present on his chest, so distinctly.

"Your turn."

He pokes at the fire with a stick, racking his brain for a question that would possibly relate to the two of them, a safe question, for a question he didn't already know the answer to.

But because he's still way too drunk and also getting a little tired, he can't keep this up for much longer, the air between them hanging obnoxiously with restless want but also the past and their history. Because she unknowingly had brought it up first, he knows it wasn't fair, none of this was even remotely fair, "Never have I ever desperately wanted someone while still involved with someone else" spills right out of his mouth.

He waits, maybe for the earth to fall beneath him but then she dutifully takes her drink without comment but must notice the look, or something, whatever it was that was there on his face because she pauses, with her lips still on the rim of the bottle and looks, of all things, surprised.

"Well…I guess I wasn't really _with_ Matt when I met you, although at the time it felt like I was being unfaithful to him in a strange way..." She explains with a rush as though he needed an explanation and all the alcohol in the pit of his stomach starts to practically grab at the lining of it. He's a fucking idiot and can't do this anymore.

"I'm not…I'm not talking about Matt, Elena." He says, exasperated and stands up, taking another long drink, feeling hot anger and guilt, something else, desperation coming in, draining him from anything else, even from her.

"Tell me something. Why did we break up?" It's a blunt dig, his voice sharp; a violent swing he shouldn't even be attempting to make but she's sitting there patiently, as if she already knows her answer even though he didn't and he was _there_. He remembers sitting on that porch, he remembers going home without her even though her sweater was on the back of his door and his pillow smelled like her for weeks. It's viciously there, all of it and he realizes, as he now glares at her, swinging the bottle up to his mouth again, how much he detests the fact that none of it was there for her.

Elena rises to stand and he hesitates as she walks towards him but let's her take the bottle right from his hand and doesn't bother to look as she throws it to the side; it hits a tree and breaks, and a silence immediately falls. They're looking at one another, open and raw and he's breathing in and out in these short intakes and outtakes, his eyes electric. A dare, she knows. She has seen this face before. This face, she liked to think, he only ever gave to her – a challenge of disbelief, how well do you know me? Push me. Push me. Push this.

And she always, always has.

"I know what happened. I found the diary. I asked Alaric to take away any and all memories of your brother who I had an intense relationship with. Who I started having feelings for while I was still with you. You told me you couldn't do it anymore, you couldn't keep trying and watching what I was doing to you. And I was doing it, all of it, to you."

He feels like he needs to grip onto something, his knees feel weak and she's the only thing that's close and tangible and he has only ever wanted to just, hold and hold hold onto her her but right in this moment, he cannot think of anything worse.

"This whole time…you…we were here and you knew, this whole time?"

Elena sees, even though subtle, as he creates space between them and cannot blame him but hates that the pressing need to take his wrist, the back of his neck, anything at all to ground them only increases and increases.

"Stefan…." But he shakes his head and turns away; a warning, his fists tight and his jaw locked, looking as though he were about to hit something.

"It doesn't really work, you know. I'd blend in but wouldn't ever get comfortable, people would like me but I made sure not to leave an impression. I chased new lives for decades, as if chasing something I knew I couldn't catch but couldn't keep from trying either."

"Your brother." She says and all the air suddenly rushes into his lungs and it's a weird, overwhelming, relief, the acknowledgment. Finally, finally, the acknowledgment. Damon belonged to him but he also belonged to her, Damon belonged to them both somehow. He belongs in this conversation, in this air, in this forest.

"He was, at one point, my only constant."

She carefully steps towards him, despite the warning; despite knowing it will surely hurt him, "One point?" She asks.

Stefan throws back his head and laughs darkly. A breathless bitter choke in his throat, "You." Is all he says as an answer and she smiles, sad and resigned because he used to be, maybe still is, hers. Through the chaos and the death, even when he had left her with Klaus. It was the line she followed, the line she could walk, something to see, something familiar. Stefan, Stefan, Stefan.

"Why are you here?" She asks then, for truth and clarity and to stop them from rushing away from something she doesn't know how to define and finally, he doesn't move, she takes his arm, comes around so they're almost chest to chest.

He breathes out; it's relief, a wave, a bold cover, it practically lines her skin, he is relieved and her fingers are at his spin; she remembers so well. That never left. It's still here, she wants this, not the past or memories. She wants his spine and a new life and maybe even him completely.

"If he came back. If he were still here. You wouldn't…this wouldn't…Elena…" He can't finish and hangs his had, it grazes her shoulder and he isn't leaving, he's still right here but there's truth, there's a point in his words she can't ignore because what if? If she had forced her memories to be taken clean of a person she seemingly couldn't live without then why suddenly was she standing with a person she had left, so easily.

"You let me die because I asked you to." She starts softly and he picks his head up and looks at her through the darkness, in awe, in doubt, he cannot be hearing the words, "You wanted to grow old with me. And die with me. I asked for choice from you, you who wanted me so much and you gave it to me. You let me die because I asked you too, Stefan. What memories, what person, whoever else, no one. Not Damon, would do that. I have every single memory of you. Good, bad, ugly, impossibly sad – I made you impossibly sad but I remember, I do and wouldn't ever want to be without them, the memories of you."

He's pressed into her skin and she's holding his neck and suddenly he's pinned her against the tree, burying himself against her shoulder, inhaling and inhaling and inhaling because this cannot be real, he must be dreaming.

"Could we start over. Could we leave. Would it make us selfish, to leave our old life, for you to forgive me? Could we do that?" She asks him.

But he's kissing her lips and his head is on fire, his chest burning , pounding heavily, painfully, feeling her against him and then she's opening her mouth wider, balling up a fist of his shirt in both hands. And the answer doesn't matter.

This is desperation and greed, and she nips his bottom lip, blood pooling and just takes a drink, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Her hand is sliding down the waistband of his jeans, just lightly above his ass and he makes a groan, stuck in his throat. She turns around and he fumbles with his belt buckle, rushing to undo his fly and getting his pants to his knees. She's got her shorts over her ass as he winds a hand around her waist and down into her underwear; she's wet and he takes two fingers, as she leans against the tree and gasps, starting to rock because he's hard against her and the friction isn't enough.

"Could we start over?" She says breathlessly, despite herself and he gently bites at her neck, keeping his fingers where they are but slowing the pace, a ludicrously liquid movement, he starts to rub against her ass as well and it's too much, her eyes roll to back of her head, this is fucking too much.

"Marry me?" He roughly asks and without warning, takes her fully, she cries out and it's a yes. A bold, solid yes. Let's forget the past and be selfish, yes, she cries as her spine is now at his and they are so very alone, having none but each other.

* * *

><p>"This is so fucked up."<p>

He tears his away from the only cloud he can see up in the sky, to her face. It's almost morning and they've been lying on the forest floor for an hour; finishing against the tree in a rush that had started with heat but had ended in a quietness that was a little underwhelming.

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

"Well there's a fucking first for everything, isn't there Stefan?"

Elena starts to giggle after she's said this, and then it turns into large fits of laughter until she's rolled into his side and he can feel tears against his neck and then she's crying, just like that.

"I'm so sorry." As if this could possibly erase it all, erase their marks on one another, their past and history and everything else. Because they couldn't start over, maybe they could start again, but not over; Damon was dead and belonged in the present – they could not start over without him.

"I know you are. I am too."

She sniffles, "We'll go back to say goodbye and then leave, maybe for a month. Maybe a year...maybe we won't ever have to go back at all!"

Caroline was going to kick his ass and severely refuse and deny this plan but it's fun to imagine anyway. Elena rolls up onto her elbows, her face red from crying and her hair frizzy but smiles. Yes, she thinks and lies back down, now tucked firmly beside him, stroking the side of his face.

"I meant it, you know. I'd marry you. I remember us talking about that too, once. So let's get married."

As simple as that. Last week he thought he'd never see her again. He never wanted to. And yet…

"Okay." He agrees because it _was_ fucked up, this dysfunction between them but without her he was losing his mind and his threading and Damon was finally out in the open between them, as something to grief but also to live without. As something to carry them through, "Okay, let's get married."

Her ring still solidly on her left hand.


End file.
